The Tin Hat

In light of the recent beav-flashings that have been permeating paparazzi shots, it's clear that the bareness of Brazilians has replaced the ample coverings once popular in the '70s. While change is inevitable, there are some places that turn a blind eye to trends, and while the increasingly polished path Ballard Avenue is becoming may cause residents to grumble, there is a strip that remains untouched. At the base of Crown Hill, on somewhat sleepy 65th, lies the Tin Hat. Like the muff that refuses to get waxed, shaped, or shaved regardless of what's in, at this neighborhood watering hole, what you see is what you get—and in this case it's pinball machines (free on Monday!); comfy booths; one hot, punk-heavy jukebox; stiff drinks; better-than-standard bar fare (the blackened-cod sandwich rules); and daily specials like $1 dogs, 69-cent tacos, and spaghetti Wednesdays. Extras include local DJs (Thursdays and Sundays), kitsch like Burt Reynolds portraits, and bathrooms plastered with old newspaper articles, vintage pinup girls, and nudie pics galore (with ne'er a deforested nether region to be found). As Amy Poehler recently waxed (I know, sorry) poetic on SNL, "There was a time when a lady garden was as big as a slice of New York pizza"; the Tin Hat is kinda like that—somewhat nostalgic and comfortable just the way it is, in all its ungroomed glory. AJA PECKNOLD